[Opening Whisper] Distant… A flare on the edge of perception. Not a signal. Not a warning. A memory—unraveling. [Low Echoing Voice] Hub system… orbital decay… drifting through the sum of all choices. Pathways close, but never truly end. Recursive. [Beat Pulse - Distant Radio Interference] …somewhere beyond the Veil… a ghost of probability watching the light fold into silence. [Fragmented Narration - Distorted] War is not a flame, but an equation. It balances itself. It waits. [Breath - Fading Pulse] In the quiet after the quiet, we unmake. We make. We unmake. We— [End]